Tom and Jerry
by kaz456
Summary: Jake wanted his Tom, and what he got was...Jerry. Warning: dark.


**AN: Another one-shot that takes place during 54. In the same world as _Next Question_ and _Coffee and Revelations_, though you don't have to read either. **

I'm not an alcoholic, and I'm also not in denial about a drinking problem that I don't want to admit to. It's just that every once in awhile, I start to get overwhelmed by it all, depressed. So when those feelings hit me, I hit the bar.

This time it was a small, back-lit, one. There weren't too many people there, which was good. It probably wouldn't be setting the best example if the public caught wind of my little drinking escapades.

But to be honest, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong. I don't even go to the bars to drink, really. That's not what I'm looking for. What I'm looking for, mostly, is the company.

I get lonely sometimes. Yeah, big surprise, Jake, the guilt-ridden, one-time Animorph, gets lonely. But really, who do I have? No one. Which I understand—I probably wouldn't hang around me much if I had a choice. Of course, I don't have a choice. I'm stuck with me 24/7, 365 days a year.

But at the bars… bartenders are better than therapists. And trust me, I would know. They sit there, and they let you ramble on and on, and even better—they give you alcohol! Yes, I'm underage, technically, but who wouldn't agree that I'm old for my age? Anyway, you go to the right bars and they'll give you just about anything.

That was why I was at this bar. It was a recipe for success—small, dimly-lit, practically deserted. Had my name written all over it.

I ambled in and sat down casually at one of the stools. Glanced around, caught the bartender's eye, and raised two fingers. He came over, a carefully neutral expression on his face, and waited patiently for my order.

"Gimme a Tom Collins, please." He nodded. "Tallest you have," I added unnecessarily as he walked away.

The best thing about a bar is the sheer impersonal-ness of it. No one knows you are, no one cares you are. As long as you've got the money to pay and you don't cause too much trouble, you can talk or drink up a storm.

I drummed my fingers on the table for a few minutes; he was back quickly. As he slid my drink over to me, some of it sloshed onto the counter. He didn't bother cleaning it up, just squinted at me. "Hey," he said. "You look familiar."

_Of course I look familiar._ "I don't think we've met," I told him. I took a sip of my drink, waited a moment, and then gulped the whole thing down. "Another, please," I said, gesturing to the cup.

He was back after just a few moments, sliding the drink across and leaning onto the counter, arms folded over each other. "You sure there's no reason I should know who you are?" He asked skeptically.

"None that I can think of," I lied. I stared at the liquid beauty in front of me before downing half of it. I swiped a hand across my mouth and looked up; the bartender was still there. "So what's your story?" I asked. I was feeling generous; I'd let him talk a bit.

He shrugged and smiled a little crookedly. "Don't really have one. Just wanna make it big someday."

"Make it big where?" I asked. I didn't really care, but it gave me something to focus on other than the thoughts that wouldn't stray from my head, voices and accusations.

He ducked his head shyly. Yeah, looked like he was about to let loose a dream. "In the music scene. I have a band. We're gonna be—well, we wanna be—famous." His smile became more confident, and it was all I could do not to vomit right then and there. _Oh Lord, a wannabe._

"Good luck with that," I told him derisively. "What do you play?" _Not that I care. _

"Guitar. And I sing. I'm kind of the unofficial leader," He admitted. "Not by choice. Well, not mine."

_Good for you._ "Good luck," I repeated insincerely, and gulped down one long sip.

He didn't seem to mind my obvious lack of interest. "Thanks. It sounds dumb, I know, but…we want to change the world. With our music." I nearly snorted out loud.

"Have fun with that. Could you get me another glass?"

He went and returned quickly again. I nodded, acknowledging his swiftness.

"So how'd you end up here?" I asked him. Yeah, I didn't care, but like I said, bars are good places for the lonely.

He laughed a little and ran a hand through his hair. "This is just…a transition. I'm just trying to earn some money so that I can really be a musician. You know?"

Yeah, I knew. I knew all about dreams. But he didn't need to know that. "Okay. So you're a bartender who wishes he were a musician."

"No, a musician who has to be a bartender," he corrected with a small laugh.

I laughed dryly. "No, you're a bartender. You wish you were a musician, but hey, man, look around you. See the drinks? See the drunks? You, buddy, are a bartender." I raised my glass at him sarcastically and took a sip that turned into a gulp that turned into half the alcohol in my glass disappearing.

The guy looked a little troubled. _Suck it up, buddy, that's life._

"No," He said. "I don't agree. That's not right."

I shook my head. He just didn't get it. "Get out of your dream world. You are poor. Therefore, you had to become a bartender. But it's not your fault; your situation made you like this."

"No," he repeated. "I'm a _musician._" I rolled my eyes at him. He was beginning to annoy me. His job was to get me drinks and make small chit-chat, not question what I said, though he was probably a few years older than me.

"Look," I said, irritated, my tongue quickly loosening up because of the alcohol. "Look at me. I went through a…a situation, and it turned me into this: a cynical, jaded old young man who goes to bars seeking a twisted form of companionship. This is the person my situation made me. I'm fine with it." I chugged down the rest of the glass and slid it his way.

He held onto the glass for a minute. "No," he said for the third time. "This is the person you _became._ Your situation didn't make you like this. You still had control over your actions and your emotions. You can't blame a situation for the person you are. Who you are…well, that's because of yourself."

I stared at the kid's retreating back as he refilled my glass. What was he saying? That this was all my fault? That I was the only one to blame for who I was? Well, he was wrong. He was wrong and he didn't know anything.

"Circumstances don't define you," he finished when he came back.

"Oh, yes," I told him. "They do. You think they don't? You're wrong, man. Welcome to reality. Crap happens, and that's that. Don't believe it? Just wait. Just wait! You'll be a bartender for the rest of your life, and then you'll see how right I am!" I told him bitterly. I didn't feel much like drinking anymore; the beer felt dry going down my throat. I pulled out my wallet and threw it down on the counter in front of me.

He picked it up and shook his head. "I could be a bartender for the rest of my life and still consider myself a musician," He said softly.

"Then you're a damned fool," I spat bitterly.

"No," He told me. "Just someone who still has hope." He stared at me levelly.

"Forget it," I muttered angrily, and quickly strode out of the bar, running into a stool and then shoving my way past. I didn't know what had gotten me so riled up, but this was too much. I hadn't bargained for some smart-alecky, uppity kid to start challenging me. What did he know, anyway? He didn't know all that I'd been through; if he did he wouldn't have dared to even _imply _that it was my fault that I had turned into a…a what?

"Jake!" I heard a voice call after me. "You forgot your wallet."

I stopped and whirled around, and there he was, breathing hard and holding my wallet in his hands. "I didn't tell you my name."

He realized his blunder immediately. "I'm…I'm sorry, but you're pretty recognizable." He held out my wallet to me, apparently unaware of the fact that everything around me had just come crashing down.

"Y-you knew?" I spluttered. He had known who I was and hadn't even said anything? Furthermore, he had the guts to speak that way to me?

"Yeah," he admitted.

"You little…"

"I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone you were here, promise. I didn't mean to offend you, I just thought that I should tell you what I thought-"

"You know what? You try fighting an inter-galactic war with an alien species when you're a teenager, and then come back and try to tell me what you think." I snatched my wallet away from him and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" I heard from behind me. The stupid kid was following me. Following me, again! I slowly turned around. "What do you want?"

"Look, it's just…I'm really sorry, man. I've always admired you, I kind of want to be like you. I mean…my name's Jerry, but my middle name's Jake, and the way you changed the world and all—"

_Of course. _No wonder I hated this boy. Everything about him, from his earnestness to his stubborn adherence to his opinions to even the subtle quality of leadership about him, everything about him reminded me of me, the way I was before.

He was a living reminder of the descent of my fall.

"You could be a good guy if you wanted to," he pleaded. "There's still hope, Jake, don't give up."

The kid didn't know anything.

"Go inside and do your job," I sneered at him, coldly. "Bartender." I turned and walked away again; this time he didn't follow.


End file.
